


porcelain

by johnllauren



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Canon Universe, Fluff, Getting Together, Human & Country Names Used (Hetalia), Kissing, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Politics, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, but theres symbolism with the changes, the softest thing ive ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 01:27:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18539485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnllauren/pseuds/johnllauren
Summary: The thing about America is that he barely has a filter on agoodday, let alone when he’s like this. “I miss you.” He says.Russia makes a noise of surprise.He tries to recover. “Not - not Soviet you or… or whatever we used to have. I… I miss Vanya.”America has too much going on at home, and it's making him far too exhausted to sit through a meeting. Russia wants to help, but their relationship has been dismal since the end of the Cold War, and all either of them want is to fix it, with no idea how. Maybe America's exhaustion and Russia's desire for America to be okay is enough to get the ball rolling.





	porcelain

**Author's Note:**

> im sad so here's rusame being soft i love them

The copious amounts of free caffeine America had consumed throughout the meeting did absolutely nothing to fix how tired he was, instead deciding to manifest itself into pumping his heart rate up to near heart attack territory. He rubs his eyes and tries, really honestly tries to listen to whatever Japan is saying, to practically no avail. 

England has something to say next, and thank god he does. The mother hen of a nation would have scolded him for closing his eyes, but England will be too nervous from the thought of everyone looking at him to spare America a glance. So America rests his chin on his hand and is finally able to close his eyes. 

(There is something to be said about permanent alliances; Spain hits him with a paper ball as England is wrapping up to spare him the wrath of Arthur Kirkland.) 

America is then able to keep his eyes open until somebody calls a recess. Then he goes back to the free coffee, because this _next_ cup might work - and anyway, even if this much coffee did give him a heart attack he’s pretty sure nations can’t even get those. 

He’s too busy listening to the glorious sound of coffee pouring into a paper cup to notice anyone standing behind him until they speak up. 

“Privet, Amerika.” Russia says. America is too tired to jump, but he does blink slowly in surprise. 

“Dude, you scared me.” 

“You’re tired.” Russia rests a hand on America’s shoulder, almost… gently? 

Usually he’d come up with some witty comment or jerk away from Russia, but he’s so _tired_ and Russia is so _warm_ that he just says “mhm.” 

“Get some rest.” Russia says.

America begins to shake his head, nodding towards the meeting table. They’ve got work to do. He can’t just leave his responsibilities unattended. 

“They’re talking about the European Union, a matter that concerns neither of us. I doubt they would realize.” Russia points out. 

The idea of slipping away from the bores of diplomacy to get some sleep is very attractive, but America knows he most likely wouldn’t be able to get any rest even if he did lie down on a bed. There was too much domestic stress to worry about to get any sleep; there had been for far too long. “I _can’t_.” America says, and it comes out sounding more pained than he intended it to. 

He thinks Russia understands.

Russia lays a hand on America’s shoulder. It’s been so long since they’ve touched like that, and perhaps if America wasn’t so tired he wouldn’t have shuddered or thought about how much he _missed_ this. “I can help you.” Russia says, and there’s no icy anger behind his voice, no edge. It’s just soft and caring and America wants to bathe in it, wants to live in a world where this has always been their dynamic, where he isn’t afraid of things ending up like last time. 

Maybe it’s because America’s already poor judgement is clouded by his fatigue, or maybe this is the first real conversation they’ve had since the Soviet Union fell and Alfred still has feelings - he means, a weakness, for Russia, but he says, “Okay.” 

His coffee is left behind on the table. 

Russia doesn’t touch him again until after they leave the room, but America is still afraid of the looks they might get if anyone sees them leave the room together. They used to leave the room together a lot more often, but that was different - that was during the conflict, and that _was_ for… dirtier matters, and all the other countries knew it too. 

“Are you escorting me to my room?” Alfred asks as they walk through the corridor. Russia shakes his head. 

“I was going to take you to my room.” 

Alfred waits for the suggestion in his voice, but there is none. 

“Ivan, I’m not in the mood for sex.” Alfred says. Russia’s name slides right out of his mouth like it used to.

Russia shakes his head. “Not sex, Fedya. I just want you to be able to rest,” and his voice feels like early mornings waking up next to each other in hotel rooms, like the few kisses they’ve shared that weren’t full of burning anger, like making breakfast together. 

“Okay.” Alfred says, and it feels like enough.

Russia places his arm around America once they’re far away from prying eyes, and America relaxes into his shoulder, letting Russia bear some of his weight, half-carrying America to his room. 

The thing about America is that he barely has a filter on a _good_ day, let alone when he’s like this. “I miss you.” He says. 

Russia makes a noise of surprise. 

He tries to recover. “Not - not Soviet you or… or whatever we used to have. I… I miss Vanya.” 

“I miss you too, Fedya.” Russia says. 

They’ve both stopped walking now, Ivan stopping with a start when Alfred said he missed him. Alfred is looking Ivan in the eyes, Ivan meeting his gaze. They stay there for an unsurprisingly awkward amount of time until Ivan laughs and flicks his gaze down to Alfred’s lips, a question. Alfred nods ever-so-slightly and then Ivan bends down slightly and then they’re kissing. 

Kissing Ivan this time is almost nothing like it was before. His lips and his body are the same, but this kiss is soft and gentle. His hands rest on Alfred’s waist, holding him closer, and Alfred reaches up to cup Ivan’s face. Ivan sighs in contentment, and his body is warm pressed up to Alfred’s. They’ve had enough practice to avoid crashing their glasses together, but Alfred can feel Ivan’s breath on his cheek and they’re both smiling into the kiss, making it a little difficult to keep kissing. 

“Come, you need to sleep.” Ivan says after they break away, but there’s a smile on his face.

Alfred pulls a face. “But I’d rather kiss you.” 

Ivan laughs. “We have plenty of time for that later. You’re tired now.” 

He doesn’t put up a fight after Ivan implies they have a _later_. The walk to Ivan’s room is peaceful. They’re holding hands. Ivan doesn’t even break the contact when they get to his room, just unlocks the door with one hand and walks in, Alfred in tow. His room is standard, identical to America’s, but it feels more inviting for some reason. “I’m not going to be able to sleep,” America says when he glances down at the bed, because he knows he won’t. 

“Your shutdown?” Ivan asks, and Alfred nods. “You don’t have to sleep, but at least lie down and rest.” 

America loosens his tie and removes his suit jacket, looking around for somewhere to put it. “Here, I’ll take it.” Ivan offers. “Do you want something to change into? That doesn’t look very comfortable.” 

Ivan’s softness and Alfred’s willingness to let his guard down around him would have _killed_ Alfred thirty years ago, but now he just nods and offers a little “please.” Ivan hands him a sweater, and Alfred wastes no time putting it on - it’s big and soft and it smells like Ivan. Ivan is taken aback by Alfred changing into it right in front of him, but Alfred laughs, “it’s not like you haven’t seen this.” 

Alfred knows he won’t be able to sleep. He knows this the whole time they spend getting ready to take the nap Ivan is making him take. But then he’s in the bed with Ivan, who is also wearing a sweater, and Ivan’s arms are around him in a way that just makes him feel safe. Ivan kisses his forehead, and then kisses his lips when Alfred looks up at him. 

“Go to sleep.” Ivan says, his voice barely louder than a whisper. 

“You’ll still be here?” Alfred asks. 

“I’ll still be here.” Ivan answers, kissing him again. 

It doesn’t take Alfred long to fall asleep. And Ivan is still there when he wakes up.

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr: lafayettesass


End file.
